The Second Battle of Helm's Deep
by Ancalime8301
Summary: Frodo learns the hard way that there are consequences for one's actions... but that doesn't mean he's going to cooperate to make things better. Post-Quest, book canon. A Frodo h-c fic.


A/N: Posted on my LJ for the Baggins birthday (9/22). I am deeply indebted to FrodoBaggins252 for a very thorough beta and for supplying the title.

The Second Battle of Helm's Deep

"Frodo, give me your hand."

The hand in question was tucked more securely between the hobbit's other elbow and his body. "Why?"

"I need to look at it. I want to make sure your finger is still healing well." That was the partial truth, anyway. He'd noticed, and then Sam had brought it to his attention, how Frodo was favoring his right hand more than he had been, so Aragorn was determined to check on the wound.

"Aragorn, really. It's fine. There's skin over the top now," the hobbit insisted, hugging his arm closely.

"Frodo." The tone was severe, and it was not a request. Frodo sighed heavily, surrendering his hand to the King's perusal. Aragorn frowned at the bare and dirty extremity. "I thought we gave you gloves to keep it covered."

"They are uncomfortable. They were made for a child of Men, not an adult hobbit."

"If you're not going to keep it covered, you should at least try to keep it clean."

"I wash it off when I can," Frodo retorted hotly. "I'd like to see you keep your hand clean when riding on dusty trails all day."

"Well, go wash it now. Come back and let me check it when you're finished."

Frodo did not return for some time, though whether because it took a while to locate enough water for washing or just to irritate him, Aragorn wasn't sure. When the hobbit finally sat back down next to him, he was presented with a somewhat cleaner, slightly damp hand. Aragorn decided not to press the issue. "Ah, that's better."

He laid the Ringbearer's hand in his own, tilting them both toward the light of the campfire to see more clearly. An instant later, a lantern appeared just above his shoulder. He nodded to the other hobbit lurking behind him. "Thank you, Sam."

The added light of the lantern helped, and Aragorn didn't like what he saw. He said nothing as he carefully assessed the area; there was indeed skin over the gap now, but underneath that thin layer, the tissues looked to be the angry reds of infection rather than the healthy pinks of healing. The entire hand even seemed swollen, and was slightly warm to his touch.

Frodo shifted restlessly as Aragorn poked and prodded around the injury, which made him suspect that he'd found the reason the hobbit had not been using that hand as much. But there remained one test that would gauge how much it pained him. Without warning, Aragorn tightened his grip on Frodo's hand and pressed down on the gap with his other thumb.

A sharp intake of breath was the first reaction. Reflexively, Frodo kicked Aragorn hard, trying to pull his hand away, but the man would not let go. Only when Frodo stopped struggling did he relieve the pressure, and even then he kept hold of Frodo's hand.

"Frodo, it's infected," he stated flatly once it seemed the hobbit had calmed down enough to listen. "How long has it been like this?"

"I don't know," Frodo answered sullenly.

Aragorn looked at the area again, doing some mental calculations as he did so. They'd left Edoras three days ago, but this had probably been developing unnoticed for at least four. "Frodo, didn't you have anyone look at it while we were in Edoras? I remember asking you on several occasions if it had been tended."

"It was, in the first few days. But then was the funeral and I didn't want to trouble anyone," he admitted. "I had Sam help me rewrap it a few times before I was given those dratted gloves."

Aragorn looked up over his shoulder at Sam, who was flushing bright pink. "Beggin' your pardon, sir. If I'da known nobody 'ad looked at it, I wouldn't 'ave 'elped 'im."

"Sam, I'm not upset with you," Aragorn assured him. "Your master on the other hand..." Frodo refused to meet his gaze. "Frodo, when you said Lord Elrond had taken care of it, you were bluffing, weren't you."

Frodo sighed and nodded. "And when he asked, I said that you had done it."

If the matter weren't quite so serious, Aragorn would've been hard pressed not to laugh. "So you've kept us in the dark for about a week now."

"I thought it would be all right," he admitted meekly. "It looked fine to me."

"You aren't familiar with wounds, Frodo. Something that looks fine to the unpracticed eye can be hiding a deadly infection. As it is, you're fortunate -if Sam and I hadn't noticed you were favoring your hand more than usual, we may not have known there was anything wrong until you became very ill." He paused to frown before continuing, "As a matter of fact, you still could become rather ill. But for now, we will wrap it with some athelas and leave a better examination for the light of morning."

* * *

Frodo was much surprised and alarmed when both Aragorn and Lord Elrond appeared by the hobbitpile to wake him early the next morning. They insisted he come with them so his hand could be dealt with before the others roused and made preparation to resume the journey, so he reluctantly extracted himself from the cozy huddle. Sam, waking when his master stirred, followed, knowing his assistance would likely be needed at some point.

The brighter light was not complimentary to the condition of Frodo's wound; in fact, it revealed the infection was more serious than Aragorn had supposed, leading both healers immediately to the conclusion that it must be halted promptly. They stepped off a few paces to confer as Frodo tried to see what concerned them so. He supposed the yellowish substance he could see just under the skin wasn't a good thing, and was that a streak of pink starting to creep across his palm? But he didn't understand the significance of what he saw, so he awaited their decision on what to do next.

Finally, Aragorn came back to speak to him while Elrond went to prepare for the treatment. "Frodo, first we want you to soak your hand in a bowl that will be brought shortly. After that, we will have to cut the skin over the gap to let the infection drain out and allow the medicines in. It will be painful, but it is the only way to be sure you will heal properly after this."

Frodo nodded numbly. He didn't like the sound of the cutting business, but he would have to trust that it would help... All too soon the bowl of water was produced, and he idly swirled his hand in the warm depths until Elrond judged it to be adequate. They brought out their other instruments: a wicked-looking slender knife, lengths of gauze and linen bandaging, a new tub of water that steamed and smelled somewhat menacing, and other odds and ends that he didn't want to know the purpose for.

"All right, Frodo, stay right there, but unfold your legs... yes, like that. Now, Sam, come sit right behind him and hold him down." Frodo's eyes widened as Aragorn directed Sam to wrap his arms about Frodo's torso, effectively immobilizing his arms to the elbow, and pinning his left arm against his chest. Was this really necessary?

Apparently it was, for Aragorn also had Sam hook his legs over Frodo's, keeping him from moving one inch as Elrond and Aragorn laid out their supplies on either side of him. They sat next to him, Elrond on his right and Aragorn on his left. Lord Elrond carefully held Frodo's hand over a towel draped on the elf lord's lap, but before he touched the knife to skin, he said, "If you do not wish to watch, we can blindfold you as well."

"N-no, thank you. I'd rather see what's happening," Frodo replied uneasily, swallowing hard as Elrond nodded and began his work. To Frodo's surprise, he didn't really feel anything, and when Elrond laid down his knife, he relaxed a bit, wondering why they needed to restrain him for that. He watched with some curiosity as some of the foul liquid began drip from the reopened wound, at the same time wondering why there wasn't much blood.

When Elrond dabbed at it with some gauze and carefully kneaded the hand to help push the bad material out, Frodo flinched. The touch did smart, but he still couldn't see why he was being held down. The answer came when Aragorn placed the new basin in his lap and held it steady while Elrond submerged his hand in it. Had Sam's grip not tightened an instant before he reacted, he likely would have succeeded in fighting his way to freedom, but the hold was merciless. He had to stay in place and bear the pain.

Frodo did not know what was in the water, but whatever it was, it stung. And if he thought the pain was bad at first, the burning gradually worked its way deeper until his entire hand was throbbing. He greatly wanted to pull his hand from the water, but Elrond held it under, so Frodo closed his eyes and tried not to react.

He didn't even realize the new basin had been switched for the bowl of plain water, nor that they'd stopped the soaking torture until Elrond was gently drying his hand with another towel. Both he and Aragorn inspected their work; Frodo held his breath, dreading what they might inflict upon him next, but they nodded in satisfaction. "It will do for now," Aragorn informed him. "But once we get to Helm's Deep -and we should be there by evening- you will need to soak it again and we will decide how to proceed from there."

Frodo paled. "Must it be soaked again?" he asked, afraid of the answer, and rightly so.

"Yes, it must be soaked tonight, and multiple times in the days to come until the condition of the wound improves."

By this time, most of the camp was awake and packing up for another day of riding. Elrond efficiently bandaged Frodo's entire hand after smoothing an ointment of some kind -Frodo didn't want to ask what it was- on the wound. "We do not want you to aggravate it further," the elf explained as he bound the hobbit's fingers together.

Frodo looked at his hand with some dismay. "How am I supposed to ride? I won't be able to hold the reins like this."

"You'll be riding with me," Aragorn informed him as he helped him stand. "So you needn't worry about what to do with the reins."

* * *

When he wasn't napping in the saddle, Frodo spent the day dreading what they were going to do to him when they arrived at Helm's Deep. His hand still throbbed painfully from the treatment this morning, and he couldn't imagine how it would feel to have it soaked in that terrible solution again. He thought he could feel something seeping onto the bandages, but when he went to poke at the wrappings, Aragorn stopped him. "Don't play with it," he commanded. So Frodo let his arms drop to his lap and slouched back against the King to take another nap.

When Frodo's head dropped forward, his chin on his chest in slumber, Aragorn shook his head in amusement. Moving his reins to the hand that was keeping Frodo in the saddle, he reached out to push the hobbit's head back to rest against his arm, noticing as he did so that Frodo's face felt rather warm. He frowned slightly, sliding his hand to the back of the hobbit's neck and checking the temperature there. Warm, as well. And what he'd thought was a touch of sunburn on that fair skin could certainly be the flush of fever...

While he was absorbed in thought, Elrond rode up beside him. "He is feverish?" the elf lord asked softly, not wishing to alarm the hobbits, who rode directly behind Aragorn to better keep Frodo in their sights.

Aragorn nodded in confirmation. He turned to check on the hobbits, who were chattering and laughing freely as they rode, Sam leading Frodo's pony along while he mostly listened to the conversation of Merry and Pippin. Satisfied that they were not paying attention to Elrond and him, he responded, "But it is not yet serious."

"How soon will the company reach Helm's Deep?" Elrond and his party had traveled south by crossing the mountains near Lothlorien before continuing along the River, so it had been some time since the elf lord had crossed this area. He was rather enjoying the change in scenery, but it also meant he had no recollection of the distance between landmarks.

Aragorn considered, eyeing the height of the sun in the sky and carefully looking at the landscape they were passing -though it must be admitted that all great dusty boulders begin to look alike after a time- before answering, "We should arrive around midafternoon."

Elrond nodded once. "Good." Both knew without either having to express it that Frodo would be most helped by resting quietly, something that is virtually impossible while traveling. Several days of rest at the fortress were already planned, though a longer stop might be required based on Frodo's recovery, but only time could tell what would be necessary.

When the group arrived at the fortress and began to dismount, Aragorn debated whether or not to wake Frodo, who was still sleeping peacefully in front of him. It would be far easier to dismount without having to worry about dropping the resting hobbit or letting him fall off the horse, so with some reluctance he shook Frodo a bit. "Frodo? Wake up, we've arrived."

He must have been in only a light doze, for he soon sat up, blinking as he yawned. "We're there?"

"Yes. How are you feeling?" he asked as he carefully dismounted, leaving Frodo swaying slightly in the saddle.

Frodo looked down at him in amusement. "Even now, I'm not much taller than you," he observed, not that his comment had anything to do with what he'd been asked. He smiled wearily, "I'm all right, just tired. And I'm not looking forward to whatever you and Lord Elrond are going to do to my hand."

Aragorn reached up and helped him slide off the horse. "We just want you to recover and heal normally."

Frodo cast a skeptical glance at him but had no chance to respond before being engulfed by the other hobbits, asking anxiously how he fared.

In Frodo's mind it was not nearly long enough before Elrond approached him, saying they must tend the wound now that the company had halted. Frodo reluctantly accompanied him to a side tent where Aragorn and the supplies were waiting. Sam again came to attend his master, but Merry and Pippin were told, in no uncertain terms by Lord Elrond, to stay right where they were or risk his wrath. They quickly decided to stay behind and gather a proper meal for their cousin, both for their own sakes and for fear of what Lord Elrond may do to Frodo if they startled either of them during the treatment.

Frodo sat uneasily on the edge of the cot in the tent -though where they'd gotten a cot from he hadn't the slightest- and wished to be anywhere but there. Aragorn crouched next to him and began cutting away the bandaging, pulling away the parts that would come with ease and leaving those that were adhering to his skin. Then his hand was put into a basin of tolerably warm water, and he relaxed a bit. Soaking off a bandage he could live with, as it had been a common occurrence every couple of days in Minas Tirith while the wound was beginning to heal. It did hurt, but in a familiar way, so he didn't mind it as much. When the other basin was brought forth, containing the same stinking brew as before, he shrank back despite his desire to appear calm and composed.

"Frodo, you know this is necessary," Aragorn chided as he tried to grasp the elusive arm. When the hobbit continued to evade him, he added, "If you do not cooperate, we may have to try the maggot method."

Frodo looked shocked. "What's that?" he asked, dreading the answer when Aragorn looked quite pleased and eager to tell him exactly what this treatment entailed.

'You expose the wound to flies, who lay their eggs in it, and when the maggots hatch they eat the dead and infected skin..." Frodo's face acquired quite the greenish hue and Aragorn trailed off when the injured hand was presented to him without delay.

Once the treatment began and Frodo began to get used to the stinging feeling, he asked, "Is that really done?"

"The maggots? Yes, it has been necessary, especially when out in the Wild with barely any healing supplies. A bad infection in that instance can easily kill a man, so you do whatever it takes," Aragorn answered vaguely, not wishing to mention exactly what circumstances had warranted that action. Frodo looked horrified, and even Sam shifted uncomfortably at the revelation.

To distract their attention, the man said, "But here, let me show you something," and pulled Frodo's hand from the solution, pointing to the wound. A white frothy substance bubbled there, and Frodo stared at it curiously before asking worriedly, "What is it?"

Aragorn laughed. "Nothing to fret about, Frodo. That's the cleansing agent reacting with the infection. It stops bubbling is when it's killed all of the infection it can reach."

"And that's it?" Frodo asked hopefully.

"What? No, we'll still need to soak it after this, silly hobbit. It purges the infection at the surface, but there's more hidden beneath, which will work its way to the surface with time." He put the hand back into the solution as he explained. "And now that we have a few days' rest, we'll be preparing some things for you to drink to help drive the infection out as quickly as possible."

Frodo made a face and then shuddered, the water in the basin nearly sloshing out onto his lap. Aragorn, about to laugh at the hobbit's comical expression, was immediately attentive. "Are you all right?"

Frodo nodded. "I'm just a little cold, and it hurts."

Elrond, who had been standing silently nearby during the exchange, slipped a light quilt around Frodo's shoulders. "Thank you," Frodo said politely. "I don't know what came over me."

"You are exhibiting further signs of the infection. You have a bit of a fever," Elrond replied, sliding his fingers down the back of Frodo's collar to check the temperature there. "Do not be concerned; it will pass when your hand begins to heal."

Aragorn took the opportunity to once again pull the hand from the solution, this time dabbing at the wound with a clean cloth before examining it closely. Elrond joined him in the perusal, and they conversed quietly in Elvish. Frodo tried to follow what words he could, but quickly grew confused and gave up, content to rest against Sam while the healers debated. He closed his eyes, and the next thing he was aware of was Aragorn patting his knee. "Frodo? We're done. You can go, or you can lie down and keep sleeping, if you like."

He blinked blearily a few times, puzzling for a few moments before he could understand the question, much less provide a coherent response. He yawned, then answered, "I'd best go make sure Merry and Pippin haven't gotten into trouble yet."

Aragorn chuckled. "All right, but you must agree to something first."

Frodo stopped mid-stretch and glared at him, eyes narrowed. "Why is there always a catch?" he grumbled.

Aragorn chose to treat that inquiry as a rhetorical question. "If you aren't going to stay and rest, you must carry this flask," -he held up one of the hobbit-sized water bottles- "and drink plenty of water. I expect it to be empty by suppertime."

Frodo took it grudgingly. "And if it isn't?"

"Then you will be confined to this tent so we can make sure you rest and have lots of water."

Frodo sighed in exasperation. "Why is it always about drinking water? I should count myself lucky not to float away by the time you're done with me."

"Frodo, it is important. With the heat and that infection, you must stay hydrated. If at any point you are feeling worse or don't want to keep drinking, you must lie down and have someone fetch either Elrond or me. Now, do you agree to these terms?"

"Oh, very well," he responded peevishly. "May I go now?"

"Yes, you may. And be sure you don't get that bandage wet, or we'll have to soak and rewrap it again tonight."

Sam lingered behind a moment after Frodo left. "Plenty o' water on the inside, none on the outside," he repeated to Aragorn. "I'll make sure he follows that, sir."

* * *

At supper that evening, Frodo's water bottle was indeed empty, but he picked at his dinner in a most un-hobbitlike manner. When Aragorn returned with the refilled flask, he sat down next to the withdrawn hobbit, watching him carefully. Sam glanced at him from the other side of Frodo, but said nothing, and Aragorn decided he would interrogate Sam if Frodo proved at all uncooperative.

The man sat silently for several minutes, long enough to realize that part of Frodo's slowness about eating was due to the difficulty of having his dominant hand heavily bandaged. But he knew better than to offer any assistance. So he started a conversation instead. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"You actually drank the water."

"Yes."

"How's your hand feeling?"

"Fine."

"Don't have much of an appetite?"

"I'm too full of water." This retort was accompanied by a scathing glare of annoyance.

"You sure you're feeling all right? You're rather cranky."

"You're interrupting my supper."

"Merry and Pippin are already finished, so you've had quite a bit of time already to eat," Aragorn observed, fighting to keep a grin off his face.

"They inhale food rather than eat it," Frodo countered. "And they have full use of both hands."

"Would you like some help then?" He couldn't resist asking. Perhaps he should be ashamed of continuing to irritate Frodo so, but it was quite entertaining, and it reassured him that the hobbit wasn't feeling too unwell.

"No, I'm not that hungry."

"I'm sure Sam would be happy to take away your bowl if you're finished."

"Did I say I was finished?"

"Saying you aren't very hungry usually implies that keeping the food in front of you will only serve to let it grow cold."

"I didn't say I was finished," he insisted. He hunched over the bowl in his lap, completely ignoring it as he stared vacantly into space.

"Will you allow me to check your temperature, or would that be interrupting your supper?"

"You're interrupting my supper either way."

Aragorn took that as permission, and placed a hand to Frodo's forehead, then the back of his neck. "You're still rather warm."

"I can't really help that, now can I?" came the testy reply.

"You need to take it easy and rest."

"I am taking it easy."

"And don't let Merry and Pippin talk you into anything."

"They don't... Aragorn, would you stop? I believe I do know how to handle my own cousins."

Now Frodo was actually getting angry, rather than just being peevish, so Aragorn decided he ought to stop. Besides, getting Frodo riled up wouldn't help his fever go down. At least the approach of Elrond provided him a perfect opportunity to halt the conversation. "All right, Frodo, I shall leave you in peace for the rest of the evening, on one condition."

The hobbit was immediately wary. "What condition?"

"That you drink this," he said, and gestured to the mug in Elrond's hand. Frodo scowled. "It shouldn't be too distasteful, just some comfrey and a few other things."

When Elrond gave the mug to Frodo, he had no choice but to take it, passing his dinner bowl to Sam before he did so. He sniffed cautiously, his wariness obviously assuaged a bit when the smell wasn't horrendous, then took a small sip. Without a word, he drained the cup and handed it back to Elrond.

Aragorn stood. "Very good. Now, good evening. And Frodo, make sure you go to bed at a reasonable hour."

Frodo didn't dignify that statement with a response.

* * *

The next morning's re-bandaging took a bit longer as both Aragorn and Elrond felt the need to examine the wound closely several times. The soaking did not sting quite so badly, though the water's smell was very pungent. The aroma was strong enough that Frodo eventually asked, "Aragorn, what's in this? It stinks."

"Several different herbs, and one of them is rather... strong on its own. Just try to ignore the smell. At least you don't have to drink it," he teased with an infuriating grin.

"Perhaps not, but you don't have to sit here with the stench in your lap," Frodo retorted.

Aragorn winked at him, then turned back to the lengths of bandaging he was laying out for use. Truth be told, the smell was certainly bad, but the stronger agent was necessary to treat the infection. They would have used it before, but it required some preparation that couldn't be done while traveling. He only hoped the new measures would be enough to begin the healing process that had so far proven elusive.

Once his hand was again swaddled in bandages, Frodo was given the same conditions as the previous afternoon: drink water, or remain in the tent to lie down and rest. Again, Frodo opted for the former, but before Aragorn let him leave, he repeated, "If at any point you stop drinking the water, you must lie down. This is very important, Frodo, and we'll not be so lenient next time if you fail to obey our demands."

Frodo brushed off his concern with a wave of dismissal and an exasperated sigh, and strode past the King into the warm, bright August morning.

Aragorn did not see Frodo again until lunchtime, during which he checked Frodo's water skin; he again refilled it, and briefly imposed upon the hobbit's luncheon and monitored his temperature before leaving him in peace. For his part, Frodo was rather detached, and failed to respond to Aragorn's comments, even when the man was deliberately baiting him. Sam, sitting next to Frodo as his ever-present silent shadow, nodded briefly to Aragorn's whispered command to fetch him if at all necessary, then returned to his own food while watching his master like a hawk.

But it seemed Aragorn's concern was unwarranted, for the afternoon wore on without so much as a peep from any of the hobbits, and while that in itself worried him, he did not dwell on the thought. Better to leave such things unconsidered.

Around afternoon tea time, he was standing on the edge of camp, surveying the view of the countryside beyond the gorge housing Helm's Deep, when there came the expected -and dreaded- voice from behind him. "Mr. Strider, sir-"

He turned so quickly he startled the gardener. "Yes, Sam? What is it?"

"Beggin' your pardon, I-I don't rightly know if I should be botherin' you, sir, but Mr. Frodo seems a mite warm, if you follow me."

"Where is he now?" he asked, turning and starting toward the pavilions that had been set up that morning as a shelter from the unforgiving sun.

"I left 'im sleeping," Sam replied, jogging to keep up with the man's long strides. "'E's been lyin' down for a while, but I didn' want to leave 'til 'e was asleep."

"How has he been?"

"Quiet, a bit out of sorts. Seems the heat's gettin' to 'im."

"I will be relieved if that's all it is," Aragorn muttered, mostly himself. He slowed his pace to allow Sam to lead him to the correct place; while the pavilions did not have walls, much of the traveling baggage was piled under the canopies, so it was difficult to tell where a hobbit might be lying.

Frodo was still sleeping where Sam had left him, sprawled atop his bedroll, his waistcoat dropped on the ground nearby, and his shirt partially unbuttoned. To Aragorn's eye, he looked a little too pale beneath the sweat and flush of warmth, but he supposed that was to be expected. He knelt next to the prone hobbit, reaching first for the bandaged hand.

Contrary to his fears, the injured limb was no more swollen than it had been that morning, and partially unwrapping it revealed nothing new there, either. If anything, the redness had receded a bit, but he didn't allow that to put him completely at ease.

Tucking the end of the bandage back in, he checked the pulse at the wrist It was too fast for his liking. Then Aragorn moved his hand to Frodo's forehead. The hobbit was indeed much warmer than he should be, even given the hot weather. Sam sat watching him from the other side of Frodo, but said nothing, waiting for him to offer any information.

"Would you wake him?" the King asked as he stood, scanning the area for a nearby soldier. Sam nodded, and gently began the process. Aragorn stepped from the confines of the pavilion and three of his guards instantly appeared. He sent them to fetch cool water and some cloths, and they immediately departed in search of the items. _While it is annoying to constantly have your steps haunted, it could be quite useful to have men eager to do your bidding always nearby_, Aragorn thought to himself.

When he turned around again, Frodo was sitting up and blinking dazedly. "How are you feeling?" he asked without preamble.

Frodo shrugged and mumbled. "Don' know."

Aragorn sighed and crouched in front of him. "Frodo, I need you to be more descriptive than that." Frodo frowned at him, still unfocused. The man turned to Sam. "Would you find Lord Elrond while I talk to Frodo?" Sam nodded and vanished, and Aragorn turned back to Frodo. He reached for the flask lying forgotten on the ground, then frowned when he realized it was still full. "You didn't drink anything this afternoon."

Frodo shook his head. "Didn't want any."

"Would you take a sip for me?" he asked, holding it out.

Frodo took it reluctantly, nearly dropping it twice before managing to take a drink.

"Good. Now, how do you feel?" Aragorn pressed.

He shrugged again, swaying a bit but managing to stay upright. "Hot. . . tired . . . head hurts . . ."

"How is your hand feeling?"

Frodo looked down at it as if seeing it for the first time. "All right."

"Is it hurting or anything?"

Frodo shook his head slowly, and then looked up as Elrond approached, followed by Sam. Aragorn stood to talk with Elrond, and Sam returned to Frodo's side. Aragorn passed him the flask, motioning that he should get Frodo to drink, then walked away a few paces to explain the situation to Elrond. The ancient healer agreed with his assessment of the possible causes of Frodo's symptoms, though neither of them could yet say which was to blame.

As they finished conferring the men returned with the water, and Aragorn directed them to place the buckets near the hobbits. Task completed, the guards vanished, presumably only out of sight until again needed. When the King returned his attention to the hobbits, Frodo was leaning heavily against Sam, his head on the other's shoulder and his eyes tightly closed. Sam anticipated his question. "He got a mite dizzy, but I weren't sure you wanted 'im to lie back down just yet."

Aragorn nodded in acknowledgement. "Frodo, take off your shirt."

The ailing hobbit opened his eyes enough to glare at him wearily. With a sigh, Frodo moved his hands to his shirt's buttons, but between his afflicted hand and the shakiness from not feeling well, he only managed to slide two out of their holes before Sam came to his rescue and swiftly finished the job.

Aragorn held out a cool, damp towel he'd prepared. "Sam, move away a bit. Frodo, lift your arms. We need to wrap this around your chest." Frodo complied, shivering a little when the wet fabric touched his skin, but he remained still while Aragorn bundled the towel around him, making sure it went from armpit to waist before tucking the loose end in securely. "You can put your arms down again," the healer advised when he'd finished. He turned to pull another towel from the water and wring it out. This he wrapped atop the first, covering Frodo's arms to quicken the cooling. Surveying his handiwork, he said, "You may lie down again if you like."

Immediately Frodo had Sam assist him in lying down, as he could not do much with his arms bound and he greatly wanted to return to being horizontal. Sam again pressed his master to have some water. Aragorn made a mental note to commend the stout hobbit later, and handed him a smaller towel to place on his friend's forehead. Aragorn almost didn't want to disturb Frodo again, but he must, for the hobbit's sake. "Now, your trousers."

Frodo gaped at him. "My trousers?"

"Your trousers. They must come off so I can wrap your lower body as well."

"Can I keep my drawers on?" the modest hobbit asked in a panic.

"Yes, of course. You can keep your drawers on."

Frodo was slightly relieved, but still annoyed by the situation in general. His hands moved a short distance toward the buttons before he remembered his dilemma from before. He sighed heavily in frustration, then gave Sam a beseeching look, which got his trousers off in good time. Aragorn had him lift his hips, which he did awkwardly, and yet another cold towel was slid underneath him. When the man was finished, Frodo felt like he was being smothered in snow, at least until the towels warmed up a bit. But invariably the towels would be removed and re-wet when they finally achieved a comfortable temperature, leaving the hobbit rather cold and quite miserable.

As if that weren't indignity enough, Elrond came to sit beside him while he was so detained and took the injured hand hostage. Frodo tried to pull it away, but discovered that his towel-wrapped arms didn't have enough mobility to regain control of his limb. He wondered darkly if Aragorn had intended it that way.

Sam watched with interest as the elf lord attended Frodo's wound yet again, noticing that there were some different things done this time than had been done before. He restrained his curiosity and didn't say a word until he observed Elrond putting a piece of gauze over the wound before applying a thick paste. "Why's that on top o' the piece, there?"

Elrond glanced at him briefly before continuing to put another square on top of the paste, securing it with wrappings. "The paste is quite strong and can cause irritation without such precautions."

Sam nodded in understanding and said no more. As Elrond finished bandaging the hand, Aragorn asked, "How does the wound look?"

"It has improved slightly, but much more improvement remains to be made."

"Could the increased fever be attributed to it?"

They seemed to be continuing a prior conversation, perhaps forgetting that Sam sat within hearing range, but he wasn't about to remind them of that. Surreptitiously he re-wet the cloth and placed it back on Frodo's forehead, listening all the while.

"That is doubtful. It is more likely an effect of the heat."

"Which would explain why his temperature seems to be responding to the towel treatment."

"Indeed. Once he is more himself, we will need to confine him to bed to recover."

"We may have to tie him down," Aragorn said with some amusement evident in his voice.

"Would you stop talking about me as if I'm not here?" asked an irritated voice that none of them had been expecting. All three had thought Frodo was still dozing.

"We believed you were asleep," Elrond explained to him.

"I'm not now. Can I put my clothes back on yet?"

"We will allow you to get dressed once your fever has abated to our satisfaction," Elrond replied archly.

"And when might that be?" A bit of a whine was creeping into his voice. "I'm cold and wet and I don't think you'd like to be lying here all trussed up, either."

"You wouldn't be lying there 'all trussed up' had you not misled us about the care of your hand," Aragorn put in. Frodo fell silent, for he knew Aragorn was right. But that didn't change his opinion about his current situation.

When at long last they took the wet towels and exchanged them for dry ones, changing damp drawers for dry, Frodo was more than ready to simply curl up in the soft fabric and go to sleep. But, as always, they had other plans for him. "Frodo, don't go to sleep yet," Aragorn's commanding voice broke into his drowsy haze, and the hobbit blinked up at him. His voice softened as he continued, "Don't worry, we'll let you rest very soon."

By this time evening had begun to blanket the Keep and its surrounds, the noises of the workmen repairing the fortress giving way to laughter and conversation as men and elves prepared for night. Aromas of roasting meat and frying potatoes drifted on the cool twilight breeze, and Sam sniffed appreciatively as he trotted along behind Strider and Lord Elrond. They were taking Frodo to that tent -well, Strider was carrying him, Lord Elrond accompanied him, and Sam was just following- so as to put him to bed where they could keep an eye on him.

They arrived at the tent at the same time as an elf carrying a small tray. Sam couldn't hear if his master said anything about it, but all present knew exactly for whom it was intended. Strider settled Frodo on the cot, with plenty of soft cushions underneath, but only the lightest of quilts on top of Frodo due to the heat. The elf handed over the tray and left quietly.

"Now, Frodo, I know you will not much like the idea of eating, so we've only had a few things sent that will hopefully be to your satisfaction," Aragorn informed the sleepy hobbit, settling the tray onto Frodo's lap. Neatly arranged there was a tall glass of heavily iced lemonade, a small bowl of chilled applesauce, and a modest mug of chicken broth. Frodo wasn't entirely displeased with this offering, so he said nothing and instead began to slowly consume what was before him.

At length Frodo finished and looked smugly over at Aragorn before yawning. "Very good, Frodo," Aragorn complimented him while removing the tray from his lap. "Now we will leave you to rest in peace."

Frodo looked sleepily skeptical. "Don't you have some brew you want to force down my throat first?"

"The medicine was in your food," Aragorn replied with a small smirk.

Frodo gaped at him for several moments. "That was not very kind of you, Aragorn," he informed the man as he pulled the quilt to his chin in preparation for sleep. "Not very kind at all."

"But it worked quite well."

"Don't expect me to trust my food ever again," Frodo shot back.

"You're a hobbit. That won't last long."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Not at all, my dear hobbit. Not at all. Now stop arguing and get some sleep."

"I am not arguing," Frodo contradicted, his eyes already drooping. Elrond and Aragorn extinguished most of the lanterns and candles that lit the small enclosure, leaving two lanterns on the ground, one on each side of the bed near Frodo's head, casting a diffuse glow on the canvas walls. Sam made sure Frodo was tucked in snugly, and by the time the three had finished their respective tasks, Frodo was sound asleep.

"Come, Sam. Let's go salvage some dinner from the insatiable appetites of Merry and Pippin," Aragorn whispered, holding open the tent flap for the gardener.

Sam stood halfway between the bed and the door, uncertain about leaving Frodo even though he was rather hungry. "But..."

"I will remain with Frodo," Elrond assured him.

Sam was appeased enough to leave the tent with Aragorn, but once outside, he turned to the man anxiously. "After we eat, we'll go back?"

"I will go back, yes, but you should get some sleep."

"But someone will be with Mr. Frodo all night?"

"Yes, we will be watching him closely," Aragorn affirmed, not sure what Sam was trying to say.

"It's just... 'e's not been alone to sleep since..." Sam paused in thought, trying to remember. "Since afore we left Rivendell, I think." Aragorn could feel Sam's eyes upon him even though the thick darkness of night prevented him from seeing the gardener. "Strider, oughtn't I go back too?"

The King settled his hand comfortingly on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, it is better that you rest so you can be fully yourself later when he'll be awake and needing you."

They were drawing ever nearer to the largest fire, where they could hear the chatter of Merry and Pippin, and the firelight cast light far enough that Aragorn could see Sam nod reluctantly.

When the cousins saw the other two approach, they were instantly on their feet, pushing bowls into their hands while throwing out an endless tide of questions about Frodo's well-being and whereabouts. They, too, asked about staying with Frodo overnight, to which Aragorn gave the same answer as to Sam, and eventually they allowed Sam and Aragorn to eat their cooling suppers in peace.

As the three remaining hobbits laid out their bedrolls, they commiserated about their offers of help being turned down. "What good's a conspiracy if 'e's outta all our sights?" Sam muttered as he flopped onto his blanket. Though they said nothing, both Merry and Pippin privately agreed. They lay down and slept as they'd been requested to do, unhappy about it though they were.

Aragorn also dozed while Elrond kept watch. The elf lord had to wake him twice when Frodo's temperature began to creep upward again. Both times they sponge-bathed him until the fever abated, a task made easier by the hobbit's state of near complete undress beneath the blanket. Elrond also changed the dressing on the wound, noting with satisfaction that the stronger remedies he'd begun to employ had already brought about some lessening of the redness and swelling.

Several times throughout the night Frodo shifted in his sleep and then seemed puzzled that he couldn't feel anyone sleeping around him. His brow would crease in confusion before his hand began roaming over the bed, trying in vain to find any of the other hobbits. Elrond would catch the questing hand and hold it gently, soothing him through the touch until Frodo relaxed and returned to deep slumber.

By dawn Frodo had been sleeping soundly for several hours, and it had been almost that long since his temperature rose above what seemed normal for him. Those signs, combined with the visible improvement of the wound, told Elrond that Frodo was on the mend. He did not say so to his patient, however, for he knew well that both Frodo and the other hobbits would try to push the recovery along too quickly and end up making things worse.

It wasn't even time for first breakfast when Sam came to ask about Frodo, and he was not satisfied with assurances of Frodo's well-being until he'd seen his master himself. Scrutinizing his sleeping friend, he was content to carry back a message to Frodo's cousins that he should not be disturbed until after he awoke of his own accord.

* * *

It was warm and there was a slight breeze disturbing the air when he finally opened his eyes. It took a moment of staring at the tent canvas overhead for him to remember where he was and why he was there. When he finally turned his head to look around, he was surprised to see he was alone, though all the sides of the tent had been swept aside and tied open, so he supposed someone was nearby and keeping an eye on him from outside the stuffy confines.

The outside was bright with sunlight, and though he was unfamiliar with how the hills changed the slant of the sun's rays, he supposed it was at least elevenses, if not luncheon. His stomach heartily agreed with that estimation, and he wondered if he should venture forth to find some food. A brief survey of his current dress quickly squelched any thought of going anywhere, unless he wanted to wander about with only a blanket wrapped around him. Frodo frowned. He'd thought he'd had drawers on when he fell asleep, but apparently he was mistaken...

Sitting up, he tried to catch any glimpse of his clothing anywhere nearby, and spied it on the other side of the room, as far away as it could possibly be. Now, should he try to get it without being seen, or wait until someone came to check on him? For the sake of his modesty, he was inclined to remain in bed and wait, but his stomach and his pride insisted he should at least attempt it.

Being a hobbit, his stomach won out, and he gathered the blanket around him, holding it with his good hand as a covering, and gingerly slid off the edge of the bed. A few steps, and he was next to the chest that seemed to hold all of Lord Elrond's poultices and horrid mixtures. His clothes lay folded on a table on the other side of the chest, so he started forward again, using his elbow against the chest to balance his suddenly wobbly legs.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The amused voice startled him so badly he almost dropped the blanket. He stiffened, recognizing the voice all too well and knowing he'd likely be sent straight back to bed for his trouble, but unsure what courses of action were open to him. Dashing off was not an option, as his clothes were still a few steps away, and he could not go very quickly with the blanket. Groaning inwardly, he turned to face his captor.

"I was fetching my clothes," he stated matter-of-factly, drawing himself up to his full height.

"So I see," Aragorn replied, not moving from the doorway where he'd abruptly appeared. "Might I ask why you had need of them?"

"I was hungry," Frodo answered testily. "It's at least time for elevenses, if not luncheon."  
"Indeed. Which is why I come bearing gifts." He gestured to the tray he carried. "But if you insist on going to get it yourself, I can take it back to the cooks..."

"At least let me see it first," Frodo said quickly. The tantalizing smells were dancing before his face, and he didn't think he could bear the thought of whatever it was being taken back without having been thoroughly sampled.

"Come back to bed, and I'll let you peruse it at your leisure."

He hurried to obey, though the dragging blanket hindered him, and managed to sit on the low bed without mishap. The tray placed before him looked wonderful, and he glanced at Aragorn suspiciously. "Is there anything in there that shouldn't be?"

The King laughed. "No, I promise there's nothing in it that doesn't belong."

"All right, then." Frodo spent a moment to survey his choices before deciding where to begin. Due to the summer heat, many of the selections were cool or cold foods like chilled pudding, cold applesauce, and iced lemonade. There were also some warm dishes, and these were the ones whose smells tantalized him: a simple stew, rich with vegetables and cuts of meat, a bit of broth in case his stomach wasn't up to the challenge of stew, and a steaming cup of tea (the medicinal type, it was certain). A sliced apple and several pieces of bread rounded out the meal, and a fairly respectable offering it was, too.

He eagerly dug in, and was rather disappointed with himself when he couldn't finish, though he guessed it only meant he really had been rather ill and was still recovering, which made his inability more acceptable. At any rate, Aragorn seemed pleased with the amount consumed, and took away the tray without saying a thing. He again reclined on the bed, making himself comfortable and was seriously considering an afternoon nap when another voice startled him. "Frodo! How are you?"

He looked up to see the other three hobbits lurking in a doorway, eyeing him anxiously. "I'm fine," he assured them. That seemed to be their signal, for they converged on him, Merry and Pippin talking at once, with Sam trying to hush them both. Frodo tried to follow what they were saying, but had to give up, and was rescued by Aragorn's reappearance.

"I don't think Frodo can listen to all three of you at once," he said with amusement as he reentered and came to the bedside. "Now that you're sure he's mostly well, why don't you let him rest a bit longer? He looks rather tired to me."  
  
"Aye, that he does," Sam agreed. Merry and Pippin nodded reluctantly in agreement, and started to leave, but Sam lingered a moment longer. "Is there aught I can do?"

The question was directed at Aragorn, but Frodo answered. "Go on, Sam. I'll be all right." He met Sam's questioning glance evenly; Sam nodded and followed Merry and Pippin. Frodo burrowed deeper into his blanket and sighed, then asked, "Aren't you going to leave, too?"

"Only after I check on you. We tended your hand this morning while you slept, but I need to see how it's doing," he answered as he sat on the ground next to the bed. First, he felt Frodo's forehead and the back of his neck, nodding in satisfaction. Then he began unwrapping the bandage on Frodo's hand.

Frodo watched him dispassionately, and abruptly asked, "How soon will we be leaving?"

Without pausing, Aragorn said, "We had discussed departing tomorrow, but I think we shall wait another day."  
"On my account, no doubt." His voice was tight, his tone sullen.

Aragorn paused, looking up to meet the hobbit's eyes. "Not entirely on your account, though your welfare is certainly cause enough to delay. There is no reason to rush, and it would do everyone good to have another day of rest before resuming the journey." He finished unwrapping the linen as far as he needed to, studied the area carefully, and began replacing the bandage. "It's looking much better now, Frodo. As long as it is minded properly, it should finish healing quickly."

Frodo favored him with a sleepy glare. "You aren't going to let me forget this, are you."

Aragorn smiled innocently. "Why would you think a thing like that?"

Frodo snorted derisively into his pillow. "Just because."

"The King of the West should not have to put up with such insolence," Aragorn retorted airily.

"Not even from the Ringbearer?" Frodo shot back.

"Especially from the Ringbearer, whom he holds in high esteem." Aragorn patted him on the shoulder as he stood. "Get some sleep, Frodo, and perhaps when you wake you'll remember to mind your elders."

"Hardly likely." Frodo grinned cheekily and yawned. Aragorn threw up his hands in mock exasperation and left Frodo to himself to get some rest.

As much as Frodo disliked the idea of causing a delay in their travel, when he woke up the next morning he had to admit that riding would not have been a pleasant prospect, so he spent much of the day resting without complaint. Well, without much complaint, as he felt he mustn't allow Aragorn to think he was being cooperative -it would worry the man, after all. Frodo Baggins had a reputation for stubbornness, and he intended to uphold that reputation until the King returned... er, except that the expression no longer held, since the King really had returned. Frodo made a mental note to point that out once they returned to the Shire, where the colloquialism was in wide use.

By evening he felt well enough to take his supper by the fire with the rest of the company, and the others seemed genuinely pleased to see him up and about. He wondered if the Elves minded being delayed for a day, but decided that the short span of time was most likely irrelevant to them -after all, what's a single day when your life stretched on forever?

And he knew without being told that the other hobbits would assure him it was perfectly all right, though he wondered what they were really thinking, whether they were very anxious to return home to their families. He would be anxious, if he had close family to return home to, but he hadn't any, not in the Shire, at any rate. He dearly wished to see Bilbo again, so he focused on that instead. That he had no one to go home to in the Shire was a fact he would happily ignore for now.

After supper both Elrond and Aragorn pulled him aside to look at his wound and see how he was doing. "Now, Frodo, Lord Elrond will be the one to tend your hand once we leave here. While this decision is in part to ensure that you do not evade care as you did before, the truth is that I will soon have to leave the company and return to where I now belong."

"How soon will you have to turn back?" Frodo asked, not masking the disappointment in his voice. The remainder of the Fellowship had been inseparable since reuniting once their labours were done, and this parting would be painful. And while he knew Aragorn could not possibly travel all the way back to Rivendell with them, it seemed strange to imagine returning without him.

"Not yet, but soon. I tell you now to prepare you, so it will not seem an abrupt happening."

"I understand," he said quietly, remaining still as Elrond finished his tasks and at length let him leave.

The Rohirrim working in the caves had come across a forgotten store of ale that afternoon, and once the evening meal was over, they had proudly brought forth the bounty and shared with one and all. Frodo took a share, of course, but mostly stayed quiet as he sat by the bonfire, allowing the joking and conversation to flow around him without really paying any heed.

As the hour grew later, the increasingly slurred voices were raised in rowdy drinking songs, and Merry and Pippin decided the chorus would not be complete without some Shire songs thrown into the mix. From there, it was a very short time until they began dancing as well, but stopped abruptly, saying, "Come on, Frodo, Sam! We need four for this one!"

Frodo rolled his eyes and groaned, knowing exactly which one his cousins had in mind. He exchanged a glance with Sam, who shrugged as if saying 'why not?' He sighed, but stood and took his place, the ale buzzing pleasantly in his ears and making him not quite sure whether he was fully upright or not.

The dance went rather well, and for longer than usual before Frodo tripped over someone's feet and ended up sprawled in the midst of a hobbit heap. All around seemed to hold their collective breath, as if not sure how to react to the small heroes' mishap. From his precarious place amongst arms and legs, Frodo wasn't quite sure what to do, either.

So he laughed. What else could he do? They were alive and healing, the war won against all odds, one and all finally able to return home wherever that may be, celebrating with friends and allies the simple joy of experiencing another day.

The laughter quickly spread and soon all were roaring with mirth. Legolas and Gimli stepped forward to help the hobbits to their feet, and the merriment continued long after the early evening stars had gone to bed.


End file.
